


Unconventional

by so_shhy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_shhy/pseuds/so_shhy
Summary: After freezing up in front of his idol at a comic con panel, Yuuri decides that he needs an awful lot of alcohol to get over the embarrassment. It is a decision he will regret.The fandom AU I can’t believe I wrote, featuring movie star!Victor Nikiforov and fanfic author!Yuuri Katsuki.





	Unconventional

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished writing 60,000 words of EMOTIONS, and I felt like it was time for something a little bit sillier. So: this.
> 
> A million thanks to Tawabids for the beta, the advice, and a lot of the inspiration.

It started at Motor City Comic Con.

“Cons are dumb,” Yuri was complaining yet again as he peeped out from behind the stage curtains. “Ugh. All these people screaming about you two idiots. Don’t they have anything better to do?”

“Jealousy will give you wrinkles,” said Chris. “Besides, you don’t complain when the fans scream about _you_.”

“My fans are smarter than your stupid fans,” said Yuri. After a moment his scowl faded and he sighed, suddenly looking like the fifteen-year-old he was rather than the jaded Hollywood star he pretended to be. “I saw a cosplay stall out there. There was a leather shield with a tiger on. I want it.”

“Ask one of the volunteers to pick it up for you.”

“ _No_. I want to browse the stall like a normal person. I never get to go to these things! It’s not fair.”

“You know,” said Chris, “Daniel Radcliffe once went to a con in a Spiderman suit. Nobody recognised him.”

Yuri’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?” he said.

“A couple of years back. He made a video about it.”

“I want to go out in costume!”

“What do you think, Victor?” asked Chris.

Victor unpropped himself from where he was lounging against the wall, and grinned. “After the panel,” he said, “we’ll all do it.”

 

***

 

Looked at another way, it started much earlier. Five years earlier, in fact, when Victor was an unknown young actor researching his big break role as Goldenman. He’d read the comics, all 400 issues of them, buoyed by the cult following that the character had attracted in recent years. But most of the older work was either painfully dated or mildly offensive, and the newer stories were an enthused jumble of inconsistencies. Goldenman used to be a staid, standard caped crusader with a Colgate smile, and now he was sometimes a Woke Vigilante in a near-future police state and sometimes a self-derogatory anti-hero mooching off a series of rich girlfriends. Victor didn’t know how he was supposed to take that mishmash and turn it into a coherent characterisation.

Stuck for inspiration, he turned to the internet. It was there that he stumbled upon the mysterious world of Tumblr, and fic, and recs. It was there that he first came across the works of _Username: Katsudon_ , and the best exploration he’d ever read of Goldenman’s backstory and his relationship with his archenemy, a queer-coded genius martial artist known as The Dancer. And also some of the hottest porn in existence.

It was the first of Victor’s many, many visits to Katsudon’s blog.

Or maybe it started two years after that, just after the first movie was released. Maybe it started when Katsudon made a post entitled, _I swore I’d never write RPF, but…_

Maybe it started with: _Chris Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov_

 

***

 

It was Yuuri Katsuki’s first convention.

He’d been in fandom since he was a teenager, and was even considered quite a big name in the Goldenman fandom, but he was shy by nature. He was also thoroughly in the closet as a fanfic writer. For most of his life he’d had no RL friends who would have understood the involuntary squealing he was likely to do when faced with exciting merch or (god forbid) the actors themselves.

That all changed when he moved in with Phichit, a long-time internet buddy. Phichit loved cons. Phichit took cosplay Very Seriously. Phichit was determined that his roommate would learn to love cons too.

Which is how Yuuri found himself at Motor City Comic Con, utterly overwhelmed, crying in a toilet cubicle while Phichit knocked on the door.

“Yuuri? Please come out.”

“Nooooo.”

“It’s okay. I know you’re embarrassed but it’s totally not a big deal. So you kind of froze up. So what?”

“I’m such an idiot,” sobbed Yuuri. “Someone will post a video. Everyone in the whole world is going to laugh at me.”

The scene kept playing over and over in his head, inescapable. The crowded audience; the brightly lit panel; himself, standing up with the mic in his hand, ready to give the question that he’d psyched himself up so much to ask. And then Victor had said, “Hi, what’s your name?”

All he could think was, _I’ve written so much porn about you_.

 So he’d just stood there, staring, while Victor’s perfect brows slowly wrinkled in worry. And then he’d dropped the mic and run.

“Nobody’s going to laugh at you,” promised Phichit. Then he said the magical words, the only words that could have got Yuuri out of that cubicle: “Come on. I’ve got a bottle of vodka back in the hotel room.”

 

***

 

“You can’t go as _your own character_ , you moron,” snapped Yuri.

“I can and I will,” said Victor.

“He’s right, Victor,” said Chris. “That hood isn’t going to fool anyone. You need to wear something with a mask.”

“I have a mask,” said Victor. He picked up the mask that a helpful assistant had made for him and held it up to show them.

Yuri’s face was exactly as outraged as Victor had hoped it would be.

“That’s the fucking stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Chris just cracked up.

Satisfied, Victor slipped the elastic of the cardboard Victor Nikiforov mask over his head and pulled up his hood. He peered through the eyeholes at his co-stars.

“Put your mask on, Yurachka.”

“I hate you,” said Yuri, but he obediently pulled his Lycra Deadpool mask over his head. Chris donned his Stormtrooper helmet, and the three of them made their way out of the VIP area and onto the convention floor.

“Careful of your voice,” said Victor, as they stepped between the first couple of stalls – a comic book artist doing sketches, and a display of handmade crystal jewellery. He knew he was safe enough using his natural Russian accent; back when he’d started out in the business he’d decided that he would do better if Hollywood thought of him as an American. Yuri, however, had landed the role of the child assassin Knifeboy partly because he’d been an angelic and terrifying eleven-year-old when filming started, and partly because he sounded like a young prince in the Russian Mafia.

“I’m not an idiot,” snapped Yuri, in a deeply unconvincing cowboy drawl, and hurried off, presumably to find his coveted tiger shield.

Chris the Stormtrooper sighed inside his helmet. “I suppose we’d better keep an eye on him,” he said. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll catch you up,” said Victor.

He’d caught sight of two people hurrying along one side of the huge hall. One of them was a tiny young man wearing the costume of some anime character Victor didn’t recognise. The other was the guy from the panel, all messy black hair and big blue-rimmed glasses, who’d frozen like a rabbit when Victor asked for his name.

The guy looked miserable now, huddled in on himself. He had the air of someone who’d been crying, though Victor was too far away to tell for sure.

For a moment, Victor considered going over there, saying something comforting, but the words of a Russian stranger would be unlikely to help.

He took one last look as the pair exited the hall. Then he turned to follow Yuri and Chris.

 

***

 

“He’s _sooooo_ hot,” Yuuri told Phichit, from his semi-upside down position on the bed. “He’s even hotter in person. I have to go back and edit every description I’ve ever done of his ass. It’s perfect. I want to squish it, except it’s not squishable. It’s all… firm. And round. Like a peach. Except unsquishable. Firm. Like a melon.”

“You should probably hold off on the editing until you’re better at words,” said Phichit, giggling and taking another pull directly from the bottle.

“I’m _great_ at words,” Yuuri objected.

People loved his words. Hell, people masturbated to his words. He’d never given anyone an orgasm in real life, but if you counted the people he’d got off with his words he was totally a player.

“I’ve had sex with thousands of people,” he told Phichit.

“Sure,” said Phichit. “Hey, it’s nearly nine. The Saturday night party’s about to start. You wanna go?”

“Yes,” said Yuuri. “My fans will be there.”

 

***

 

Victor stared in astonishment at the ebullient figure standing on the table. It was the man from the Q&A again, but he was no longer miserable. He was grinning, eyes full of enthusiasm as he read aloud from his phone, gesturing with his free hand to emphasise his words.

_“…Chris’s palms were burning, a slight, sweet pain that brightened whenever he laid his hands on Victor’s body…”_

“I thought you were just being an asshole when you wouldn’t let Yuri stay for the party,” said Chris from deep within the Stormtrooper mask. “God, you were right. He’d be scarred for life.”

Victor ignored him. He was busy listening. The story was getting to its climax.

_“…gently, Chris spread Victor’s reddened ass-cheeks and bent his head to…”_

“We’ve done that,” said Chris a couple of minutes later. “Wait, we’ve done _exactly_ that. _Huh_. I was wondering where you’d been getting your ideas lately. Usually Georgi’s the one who asks to get spanked.”

Victor grinned.

“That’s one of Katsudon’s finest efforts,” announced the man. “A modern fandom classic.” He fixed his audience with his wide brown eyes. Utterly sincere, he said, “Katsudon is _amazing_.”

There was a rousing cheer from the crowd.

“Okay, any other requests?”

Several women shouted out titles. Victor had read all of them.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” said Chris. “You’ve been getting sex tips from fanfic.”

“Only Katsudon’s,” said Victor. “They’re my favourite. _So_ hot. They’re really romantic, too. There’s one where we’re both figure skaters, and we’re in love, and we have this intense ice cube kink.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “I’m never sleeping with you again,” he said.

Victor shrugged, unworried. He knew the ultimatum would only last until the next party or event where Chris was bored and Victor was convenient. After blowjobs in the men’s room, benefits would be officially reinstated.

Over by the table, a minor argument had sprung up between Q&A man and one of the fans.

“It _is_ physically possible,” the man was saying. “Katsudon wouldn’t write it if it wasn’t. _I_ could do it, and they’re both really flexible. You want me to demonstrate? Hey. Hey! I need a volunteer. You, in the Goldenman costume! Come help me demonstrate sex positions!”

Chris’s hand clamped down hard on Victor’s shoulder. “As much as I’d love to see it, Victor, it would be a bad idea.”

When Victor didn’t move, the man’s beautiful rounded face crumpled in disappointment. “No?” he said. “Oh well,” he added, shrugging, “you don’t look bendy enough anyway. Not everyone can have a body like Victor Nikiforov.”

Victor shook off Chris’s restraining hand and stepped forward. “I’ll show you bendy,” he said.

 

***

 

On Sunday morning Yuuri woke with a headache, a queasy stomach, and a large hole in his memory. He rolled over and sat up, fumbling for his glasses and wincing at the light streaming in through the curtains.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” sang Phichit, who was sitting on the other bed, tapping away on his phone.

“Morning,” mumbled Yuuri. “Oh god, how much did I drink last night?”

“I don’t know. I lost track after the vodka. Women kept buying you drinks.”

“They… what?” said Yuuri. “Why?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“No,” said Yuuri, with a familiar feeling of rising panic. “I don’t remember much after getting to the party. I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

“Um… well _…_ ” began Phichit.

Yuuri flopped back onto the bed and hid his head under the covers.

 

***

 

“You can’t skip your signings,” yelled Yakov. “You’re on the schedule! People have paid! The convention will sue you!”

“But he’s my… muse. I have to find him again,” said Victor. He was feeling very forlorn. All he wanted to do was hunt down _the love of his life_ , and nobody understood.

“Find him on your own time,” snarled Yakov.

“We get a lunchbreak before photo ops,” said Chris soothingly. “Besides, he’s a fan. He might want an autograph.”

Yuri prowled in, glowering from beneath his tiger-print hoodie. “What are you losers talking about?” he asked.

“Victor thinks he’s in love,” said Chris. “He met a pretty Japanese boy at the party last night.”

“Yuuri,” said Victor. “His name’s Yuuri.”

“That’s _my_ name!”

“It sounds better on him.”

Yuri gave Victor a black look. “Ugh, you make me want to barf. You’re not in love. You’re pathetic.”

“You did only just meet him, Victor,” said Chris. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know enough,” said Victor.

He knew more than they thought. He was _itching_ to tell Chris the truth, but he’d promised.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Yuuri had whispered, pressed close up against him on the dancefloor as they swayed to the music. “You have to swear not to tell anyone.”

Yuuri was an excellent dancer. He really was flexible, and strong, with a softness that seemed made for lazy morning cuddles. If it hadn’t been for the mask, Victor would have already kissed him.

“I promise. You can tell me anything.”

Yuuri went up on tiptoe so he could breathe the words directly into Victor’s ear.

“I’m Katsudon,” he said.

That was the moment Victor had fallen completely in love.

 

***

 

“Everyone’s looking at me,” said Yuuri.

“No they’re not,” said Phichit, giving a cheerful smile to the millionth woman who had waved at them so far that day.

“They _are_. Phichit, this is awful. Can we just go home?”

“Not yet. We’re volunteering at the kids cosplay contest this afternoon. And there are a couple of panels I want to see before then. Come on, you’ll feel better once we get some lunch.”

Yuuri groaned.

“Hey,” said Phichit, “that’s the guy you were dancing with last night.” He raised his hand to wave.

Yuuri grabbed the hand before the wave had half begun and dragged it back down. “What are you doing? Stop it!” He searched the crowd frantically with his eyes. “Which one?”

“Him, in the store-bought Goldenman costume with the weird paper Victor Nikiforov mask.”

The man in question had obviously seen Phichit’s aborted wave. He was coming their way in long, easy strides. Yuuri yelped in horror and dragged Phichit away along the nearest row of stalls.

“Oh my god, oh my god, what am I going to do?”

"Uh… maybe talk to him?” suggested Phichit. “He’s obviously really into you, and I’m pretty sure you like him too. Or you would, if you could remember him.”

“I don’t want to talk to him! I humped him in public! After reading my filthiest fics aloud to a whole roomful of people!”

“You didn’t tell anyone they were your fics. You said they belonged to Katsudon, the finest writer in the world,” said Phichit. He paused reflectively. “I think you claimed Katsudon was better than Shakespeare.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” wailed Yuuri. He buried his face in his hands. “I want to go home.”

“Think of the children, Yuuri,” said Phichit. He put his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “It’s okay, he won’t find you. I’ll keep a lookout for you.”

 

***

 

Even without the initial hint of Yuuri running for his life, Victor would’ve figured out quickly that his beloved didn’t want to be found.

It wasn’t that Yuuri was hiding, exactly. Victor kept catching glimpses of him in the distance, standing with his anime-costumed friend at stalls or in line for signings. It was just that whenever Victor tried to get closer he found a whole lot of nothing.

Yuuri was avoiding him, and the lunch hour was quickly ticking away. In desperation, he hurried back to the VIP area.

“Chris,” he said, “I need to borrow that Stormtrooper costume.”

 

***

 

Phichit had got into a very involved discussion with another fan. It was something to do with a panda getting a job as a panda, and Yuuri was finding the whole thing far too confusing for his hungover brain to comprehend. He backed slowly away. Unfortunately he found himself backing straight into something, or someone. He spun around and found himself face to face with a Stormtrooper.

“Sorry! I should have been looking where I was going.”

“Oh, there you are!” said the Stormtrooper. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

It was an incongruous voice for a servant of the First Order, light and cheerful, with a soft Russian accent. Yuuri stared up into the white-masked face, confused. “You’ve… what?” he said. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, from the party! Don’t run away! I had a great time with you last night.”

Yuuri gaped. “But… the guy from the party is dressed as Goldenman,” he said.

“I changed,” said the Stormtrooper. “You’ve been hiding from me. What was I supposed to do?”

Yuuri had reached the end of his rope. “You’re supposed to leave me alone!” he yelled.

He stood for a moment, staring at the Stormtrooper, which somehow managed to look shocked despite its impassive mask. Then he turned and fled. He didn’t look behind him when he heard the clatter, but he was pretty sure it was the sound of a Stormtrooper tripping over its boots and falling flat on its face.

 

***

 

“I have to tell him who I am,” said Victor. “He’s written gorgeous prose about my ass. He loves me already, he just doesn’t know it.”

(So maybe he’d promised not to tell anyone that Yuuri was Katsudon. Yuuri had been drunk at the time. He hadn’t meant it. And besides, it was only Chris.)

“You have a strange idea of love,” said Chris. “If it comes to that, he’s written just as much about _my_ ass.”

“He likes mine better,” said Victor, smiling at the memory of Yuuri on the dancefloor. “He told me so. As soon as he realises I’m Victor Nikiforov he’ll agree to date me.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see,” he said.

Victor ignored the tone. He flagged down one of the con volunteers and gave her his best smile, slipping back into his customary American accent. “Hi! Could you do me a favour? It’s really important – true love depends on it! I need you to find someone for me. His name’s Yuuri. I don’t know his last name, but I can describe him for you…”

Once the volunteer and a couple of her friends had gone off to do his bidding, Victor turned back to Chris.

“What happened to that Goldenman costume? I need it.”

“Why?” said Chris.

“For dramatic effect.”

 

***

 

Yuuri was extremely worried. As the two volunteers escorted him gently but firmly into the area that was, according to the signs, strictly off-limits to the public, he wondered what on earth he could have done wrong. Maybe Phichit had forgotten to tell him one of the rules, like how you shouldn’t take pictures of cosplayers without asking. Maybe the Goldenman franchise owners had found out how much he’d written about their copyrighted characters, and there were policemen waiting for him just through the next door.

“In here,” said one of the volunteers. “Have fun!”

Doing his best to take a calming breath, Yuuri steeled himself and stepped through the door. It swung closed behind him with a bang.

There were no policemen in the room. There was only one person.

“You!” said Yuuri. “What is this? What the hell is going on? Let me go!”

He grabbed for the door handle again. In his panic he expected the door to be locked, but the handle turned easily under his hand.

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t leave yet!” said the mysterious person in the Goldenman costume. “I have something to show you.”

He pulled off the weird mask of Victor Nikiforov’s face to reveal…

Victor Nikiforov’s face.

“Uh…?” said Yuuri.

“Surprise!” said the person.

Yuuri’s hand dropped limply away from the door handle. “Who are you?” he said.

The person gave him a puzzled look. “I’m Victor Nikiforov,” he said.

“But…” said Yuuri. Words failed him. He flailed in a desperate attempt at communication.

“Oh, the accent?” asked pod-person-Victor. “It’s better for my image if I sound American. _I can do this voice if you want_ ,” he said, and for a few words he was pure Hollywood, “but we’re friends now and I think you should get to know the real me.”

“You’re… the real Victor Nikiforov,” said Yuuri. He felt like the cogwheels in his head kept getting caught on sand grains of impossibility.

“The one and only,” said _actual Victor Nikiforov._ He gave a little twirl, his hooded cape swirling out behind him to reveal that matchless ass.

“I danced with the real Victor Nikiforov. I read porny fanfiction about Victor Nikiforov to the real Victor Nikiforov.”

“Yes! Will you stay and talk to me now?”

“Um,” said Yuuri.

He didn’t run away. He walked away. The door slammed again behind him and he just kept walking.

Thankfully, Victor didn’t follow.

 

***

 

The Goldenman contingent flew back to LA that night. By brunch time the next day, Victor was thoroughly moping.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Makka, why won’t he at least give me a chance?”

Makkachin, being a dog, didn’t reply. Victor scratched her behind the ears anyway.

“How about because you’re a creepy weirdo who stalked him all over the con?” said Yuri, who was lying on Victor’s sofa with a punnet of strawberries balanced on his stomach.

“I did not.”

“Yes you did,” said Chris. More civilised than Yuri, he was sitting at the table by the window of Victor’s ocean view sunroom, daintily eating slices of peach. “Wearing a mask of your own face. That wins you extra creepiness bonus points.”

“So? He writes kinky porn about me. Doesn’t that get him bonus points?”

Yuri scrambled to sit up so fast he tipped over and fell off the sofa. Strawberries went bouncing everywhere. “ _What?”_ he demanded from floor level. “He writes _porn_ about you?”

“He’s a wonderful writer,” said Victor. “An internet celebrity. I based half my Goldenman characterisation on his work.”

“And it’s very inventive porn,” said Chris, smirking. “That thing we tried last month-”

“Oh my god, you’re both disgusting!” yelled Yuri, and stormed out of the room.

 

***

 

Yuuri was never coming out of his room again. He explained this to Phichit, who patted him gently on the shoulder over the blankets.

“Yuuri-kun, you’re not making any sense. You have to leave your room to go to your classes. Besides, what could be worse out there than in here?”

“What if I run into someone who was at the party?”

“Everyone loved you at the party.”

“What if I run into Victor?”

“How could you possibly run into him? He’s in LA. There’s no way you’ll see him before next year’s Comic Con.”

“I’m not going to next year’s Comic Con!”

“Aw, you’ll change your mind,” said Phichit.

Yuuri shook his head. He was absolutely firm on that. The only good thing about this whole outlandish business was that it was _over_. They lived on opposite sides of the country, and short of hiring a private investigator Victor had no way of contacting him. Phichit was right. Yuuri would never see Victor Nikiforov again. His only ever interaction with the most beautiful man on the planet, the man he would have given his left kidney to impress, was nothing but a mortifying memory.

Yeah. Perfect.

Yuuri buried his face in his pillow and groaned.

 

***

 

By the end of his second hour in front of his laptop, Victor had developed an even greater appreciation for Yuuri’s talents as a writer. Writing fiction was really, really difficult. Writing porn was worse.

Victor had imagined himself composing searing paragraphs of pure ecstasy. Instead, he had three paragraphs of cocks and orifices and he was beginning to feel like he would never be able to take sex seriously again.

He deleted a sentence and retyped it, read it over, frowned, and picked up his phone to text Chris.

_To: Chris  
If I call a penis man meat is that hot or weird_

He returned to his document. Not long afterwards, the phone rang.

“Chris?”

For a few seconds, there was only hysterical laughter from down the line. Then Chris gasped, “I need context, Victor. Please. This has got to be good.”

“I’m writing porn for Yuuri.”

Chris howled with laughter again. Victor waited patiently for twenty seconds or so, then sighed and hung up.

 

***

 

There were messages in Yuuri’s Tumblr inbox.

Yuuri hovered his cursor over the little envelope icon, wondering if he had the mental strength to deal with contact from the fandom world. He’d got quite a few messages in the days after the con, mostly variations on the theme of, “Hey, did you hear some guy at MCCC was standing on a table reading your fic? It was awesome.”

He’d made a post about it: _Wish I could have been there! Thanks, mystery guy!_

Then he’d gone to bed to have a little cry.

It had been a week since the con. He was hopeful that the whole thing had blown over, the fandom world had found something else to talk about, and he’d never have to think of his dramatic fic reading again, except for every night when he couldn’t sleep and mentally revisited the most excruciating events of his life. At the very least, he hoped he could safely open his messages without instant reminders of it.

He clicked the envelope.

The first message read: _I tried to write porn for you but it’s harder than it looks :(((((((_

The second: _Sorry, no pun intended_

Yuuri blinked at them. It wasn’t exactly unusual for people to write porn for him, but usually they were people he knew. The user’s URL was TheBestVictorNikiforov, which was pretty nondescript for fandom. He clicked again, and checked out the person’s blog. It was empty. No posts, no reblogs, no bio, just the default theme. Weird.

Two more new messages.

_This is victor from the con btw_

_Victor nikiforov I mean – the guy you kept running away from_

Very quietly, Yuuri said, “Fuck.”

He closed his eyes. He opened them again. The messages were still there. It had to be a joke, it had to be Phichit playing a trick on him… but it couldn’t be. Yuuri knew Phichit, and Phichit didn’t think it was funny to mess with people’s heads.

He took a deep breath, opened a reply, and typed: _HOW DID YOU KNOW I’M KATSUDON???_

The new message appeared almost instantly.

_You told me! On the dancefloor. Don’t you remember? I was so excited to meet you. You’re one of my favourite writers._

There had to be some kind of mistake, Yuuri decided. Victor Nikiforov must have got him confused with someone else. Maybe one of the actual screenwriters at the con.

_Your porn is the hottest!!! Also I read your earlier fics while I was researching my role as Goldenman. You were my inspiration._

“I was _what_?” said Yuuri aloud.

Another new message: _Will you please talk to me now? :)_

Yuuri’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for long moments. Finally he lowered them and typed just one word.

_OK_

 

***

 

As Victor walked into the airport, Makkachin was tugging on her leash, as though she wanted to get to the arrivals area as urgently as he did. Possibly she’d understood, all the times he’d told her what was happening. More likely, some of his excitement had rubbed off on her.

He’d waited months for this.  Months of chatting to Yuuri online, coaxing him out of his shell, discovering who he really was: Yuuri, who studied sports science and taught figure skating; Yuuri, who was a huge comics geek and believed in true love and wrote fantastic porn in his spare time; Yuuri, who had been Victor’s inspiration and was now pretty much his favourite person in the world.

Yuuri, who was coming to visit.

“We have to be patient,” he told Makkachin, pulling the baseball cap lower over his face so that the peak met the top of his sunglasses. “He might not be here for a while. His flight’s…” He got out his phone to double-check the alerts. “…landed. _Shit_.”

He broke into a run. Makkachin gave a happy wuff and bounded alongside him as he sprinted along the concourse and between the baggage carousels. And there, just coming through the gate, was Yuuri. Victor’s own, beautiful, adorable Yuuri, with an overstuffed backpack and an anxious expression, looking around at scattering of people waiting to pick up their friends and family.

“Yuuri!” Victor called, waving with the hand that wasn’t clutching Makkachin’s leash. “Over here!”

Yuuri’s face lit up. He ran straight towards Victor, and into his arms.

 


End file.
